


Breakfast for Dinner

by 8sword



Series: His Fucking Kids [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 4x20, 7x13, Actual Cannibal Shia LaBeouf, Dad!Dean, M/M, Professor!Castiel, Slice Girls, The Rapture, dad!Cas, mechanic!Dean, parenting, stepsisters!Claire and Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8sword/pseuds/8sword
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is writing that week's conjugations on the white board when his cellular phone buzzes once in his blazer pocket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakfast for Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to start posting these separately because they don't all necessarily follow each other chronologically. This ficlet installment in particular owes a lot of Flutiebear's tumblr post on Krissy Chambers (7.11, 8.18).

            Castiel is writing that week's conjugations on the white board when his cellular phone buzzes once in his blazer pocket. It is most likely a text message from Dean, who often sends him emoticon-filled texts when he is bored at the garage, so Castiel ignores it and continues with the lesson, trying not to sigh at the numerous and varied pronunciation errors of his FRE2201 class as they struggle, line by line, through _Le Vampire_.

            At ten till, he waits for Joseph Watts to finish mangling " _ton esclavage maudit_ " before he clears his throat. "I will see you all next class for your recitations. Please come to my office hours tomorrow afternoon if you would like to practice ahead of time. _Á demain._ "

            " _Á demain_ ," they echo back dutifully, except Joseph, who says, " _Á bientôt,_ " with what Dean would probably call a shit-eating grin, and Martin Sednick, who is still sleeping on top of his copy of _Au Trésors._

            Castiel leaves Martin to it, following his students out into the brisk March air. He reaches into his pocket with one hand, hitching the messenger bag Emma and Claire bought him for Christmas more securely over his other shoulder. He is smiling slightly, anticipating whatever Dean has sent him, but instead, as the screen activates under his thumb, he feels one of those figurative swoops of his insides that will never fail to feel unpleasantly alien, no matter how long he has been human. Because the text isn't from Dean, it is from Claire, and it reads only,

            **call m**

            Unlike Dean,Claire rarely texts him while he is at his place of employment. Rarely texts him at all, actually, and the messages he has seen on Dean's phone from her are always neatly punctuated and capitalized. This message, with its lower case letters and cut-off nature, alarms him. Which is why, he realizes, his pace has become nearly a run as he cuts across the plaza toward the faculty parking lot and holds his phone to his ear, already dialing Claire's number.

            There is no answer. Just a succession of rings and then the recording Emma put on Claire's voicemail: "Hey, you've reached Claire's phone, which means you're probably looking for help with your homework. She charges ten dollars for math assignments, twenty for essays--"

            Castiel hangs up. Tries again. His insides are swooping more violently now, banking hard like a winged thing trying to land on a very small space. Again, no answer.

            By now he is at the parking lot; he squeezes into his Honda, glaring poison at the Chrysler that someone has parked too close to him on his driver's side. He dials a new number and plugs his phone into the car console as he reverses out of the parking space too quickly.

            Dean answers on the fourth ring that reverberates through the Honda's speakers, his voice strained but relaxed in a way that means he is probably under a car, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear. "Hey, babe, what's up?"

            "Have Emma or Claire called you?"

            The shift from relaxed to guarded is audible even before Dean speaks. "No. What happened?"

            "I received a text from Claire asking me to call her." Castiel pulls onto the main road leading off campus. "I have now called her twice with no response."

            "Okay," Dean says. "Okay. It's probably nothing." His tone is the soothing one he uses when Claire's upset over a poor grade, or Emma's gotten into another fight with one of her friends.

            It makes Castiel testy: This is not an unsatisfactory grade or a human spat. "Claire would not contact me for nothing, Dean." Unspoken is _That is what she calls you for._ They both know that Dean is Claire's preferred parental figure, the one she asks to look over her English essays before she turns them in and to teach her to drive and to go with her into the hospital room when she had to have her appendix removed. Dean is the closest thing she has to the father she lost, while Castiel is the thing that took that father away. Claire associates him with pain and power, and that is why this is serious; that is why she would not have contacted Castiel before Dean unless something was very wrong. "I am driving to their school now, I suggest you do the same."

            A scrape of metal as Dean rolled himself from under the car. "I'll be there in ten. Cas, wait for me to get there, okay, don't--"

            Castiel disconnects the call and presses down the gas pedal.

 

\- o -

 

            He does not stop at the school's main office. Visitors to the campus are supposed to present their identification and receive visitor's badges there, but Castiel strides past it, coat flaring behind him, to the history class Claire has each day after lunch. He and Dean attend the girls' school orientations every year for precisely this reason, so that they may know precisely where each of them should be at any given time, despite Emma's loud protests that no one else in high school goes to orientation with their parents. They usually take this opportunity to surreptitiously draw wards into the doorjambs and window sills of the classrooms the girls will be occupying, as well, but perhaps they have not worked, perhaps something the sigils do not affect has found its way into the school, found its way to Claire.

            Castiel tastes, for the first time, something like the panic that suffused Jimmy's vessel when he poured himself back into it in that abandoned factory, so long ago.

            The door to Claire's classroom is closed. Castiel slams it open, his silver blade ready beneath his sleeve.

            Twenty-nine pairs of eyes stare at him. Including two blue ones that belong to Claire, who is standing in front of the teacher's desk, an angry flush burning in her cheeks.

            "Uh," says the teacher at his desk, half rising to his feet. His brows are furrowed. "Excuse me, what do you--"

            "I am Claire's father," Castiel cuts him off stiffly. He sweeps the room with his eyes, looking for any sign of possession. " _Christo_." Not a single eye turns black that he can see, and nor is the teacher's, when Castiel turns his gaze to the man, whose expression has turned suspicious. "Claire will be coming with me."

            "Excuse me?" the teacher says. He glances at Claire. "Sir, I'm sorry, but that's not how students are checked out--"

            There's the sound of running footsteps in the hall outside, then Dean's skidding into the classroom. His hand is in his jacket, closed around the inner pocket Castiel knows contains one of his firearms, his eyes narrow with a guardedness Castiel hasn't seen in years. "Cas!" he barks, just before his eyes land on Cas, and then Claire. The guardedness doesn't drain from his eyes, but his body immediately relaxes, and his eyes release Castiel's to flick across the room, taking in the same things Castiel did.

            "Mr. Winchester," the teacher says, and he sounds less recalcitrant now, though still confused. He knows Dean, has spoken with him about Emma. "What are you...?"

            Dean is smiling suddenly, quicksilver charm, hand dropping out of his jacket to come up in an apologetic gesture. "I'm so sorry," he says. "It's just, we got a text from Claire that got us a little worried."

            "You always come barging into her classroom when you're worried?" the teacher says with a cocked brow, and the students in the class snicker, reminding Castiel that they have an audience. He looks at Claire and sees she has rolled her eyes heavenward. Castiel's insides feel heavy. He has done something incorrectly, here. "I trust you know the students aren't supposed to have cell phones in class?"  
            "Yeah, it's just--her grandma's in the hospital," Dean says without faltering, despite the fact that both Claire's maternal and paternal grandparents have been dead for years. "I told her to keep her phone on her so we could keep her updated."

            The teacher's expression has become slightly apologetic. "Well. I wish you had told me that, Claire." He reaches into a drawer of his desk and pulls out what Castiel recognizes as Claire's phone, sliding it across the desk to her. Castiel sees the light blinking on its side that means she has missed calls. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I confiscated her phone when I saw her texting with it."

            "I understand," Dean says. He's moved closer to Claire somewhere in the curse of the conversation, and is now between her and the teacher. "We're going to go check her out of the office now, though." He goes to nudge Claire, but she's already moving to her desk to grab her backpack. "Sorry again for interrupting."

            Castiel moves to the doorway, eyes the teacher balefully until both Claire and Dean have stepped out into the hallway, and closes the door after all three of them.

            They get about three steps outside of the hallway, out in the cold Dakota air, before Dean says, carefully, "So...what just happened in there, Claire?"

            "Castiel just made my history teacher think you're both psychotic, that's what happened," Claire says. "Really, Castiel?"

            Castiel's insides twinge with hurt. He says stiffly, "You never contact me except in extreme circumstances, Claire. Surely you understand why I thought it was an emergency."

            Claire doesn't say anything. Just looks at him. Then she shakes her head and sighs. Her bangs fly out of her face and then resettle behind her ears.

            "Look," she says. "You have to pretend like you don't know." She looks at Dean. "Dean, can you--go home, maybe?"

            Dean narrows his eyes but nods, clasping Claire's arm one more time before he leaves. "You sure you're okay?" he says gruffly.

            She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine." And before he can ask, "Emma is, too, she's in gym right now, so unless you wanna get jumped by Coach Kerry I suggest you don't sneak over to check on her."

            Dean grins, tugs Castiel's head toward his to plant a kiss on his hair, and leaves. But the look he shoots at Castiel before he turns says quite clearly _You better tell me what the hell she's up to when I see you after this_.

            Claire waits until Dean is out of sight, turning the corner at the end of the breezeway, before she clears her throat. "Look," she says, looking at the courtyard behind them instead f at him, and it's eerily like the way Emma talks to Dean, much of the time. "Emma got her period today."

            Castiel blinks. Absorbs the information. As far as he understands, human menstruation should begin at a much earlier age than what Emma is now, but in truth, he supposes, she is not truly the age she appears to be, and nor is she actually human, physiologically.

            "She's freaked. 'Cause of, like, the obvious--" Claire gestures vaguely, "but also 'cause, like, she's afraid Dean is going to freak out."

            "That is unjust," Castiel says. "The time you placed sanitary napkins on the shopping list, Dean obtained them for you without fuss."

            Claire's eyes flashed irritation. "Yeah, except she's not freaking about the whole _Dean won't wanna take me to buy tampons_ thing, Cas, it's more the _Dean's going to think I'm about to have Amazon babies and start eating human flesh_ thing."

            Ah. That...makes sense. Unfortunately. Castiel knows that Dean would not truly believe Emma capable of such things, except that he would, for just a split, terrified second, and those split seconds somehow always manage to be just long enough for Dean to open his mouth and blurt out something he regrets later.

            "I see," Castiel says, for he does. "What would you like me to do?"

            For the first time, appreciation crosses Claire's features. "I was going to text you to bring us a pair of jeans for her." She grabs his hand, pulling him in the direction opposite to the one Dean took. "But now that you're here, we can just give her your trenchcoat to wear while you check us out and take us home."

            This seems to be an acceptable plan. Castiel nods, letting himself be led down the breezeway. Just outside the next hallway extending off a breezeway are two doors with restroom signs on them, and a few steps away from them, Claire stops, looks up at him.

            "Look, I know you're going to tell Dean. But can you just--tell him it was me? That I got my period early, or something." Her grip is very tight, her eyes very serious. "Please. Emma's freaking out."

            Castiel inclines his head, slowly. "Claire," he says, and tastes the name in his mouth, rolls it over. "Of course."

 

\- o -

 

            Claire tugs him through the door that has the girls' sign affixed to it. The bathroom inside is unpleasant--of all the things Castiel has experienced as a human, school bathrooms are undoubtedly one of the most disagreeable--and the only closed stall is the handicapped one at the end.

            "Em." Claire goes to the wide stall door, raps on it. "You can come out, I got help."

            Emma's scuffed boots become visible under the door, which swings open. Emma stares straight at Castiel, the color draining from her face. Then she slams the stall door shut again. "Oh my God, you didn't get help!" she nearly wails. "You brought _Cas_! Why did you bring Cas?"

            "So you can wear his coat, you idiot," Claire says, no trace of the sympathy she'd shown before, that had made her grip Castiel's wrist so hard. "Cas, can you--"

            Castiel obediently shrugs off his trench coat and pushes it over the top of the stall door. Emma makes a hissing sound like it causes her pain but he feels it through the coat when she takes hold of it and pulls it the rest of the way over. For a moment, he considers asking if she is all right, but Claire gives him a swift look, and he refrains.

            When Emma opens the stall door a moment later, some of her eye make-up has run, and her face is sticky-looking like she has been weeping. But she looks defiant, half glaring at Cas like she is daring him to say something. It's an expression he is familiar with from Dean, and he nearly sighs, nearly smiles. _Nearly_ : Instead he does neither, but goes to the sink and wets a piece of rough brown paper towel to wipe the black streaks from her face.

            She hiccoughs out a sob when he does that. "Being a girl _sucks_ ," she says around the tears.

            "Now you can't make fun of me for needing pads anymore," Claire says unfeelingly. Emma aims a kick at her, but a laugh is making its way around her hiccups, stretched and strained like skin that has been pulled open and retracted.

            "You're such a bitch," she says in that stretched voice, and Claire smirks, pinches her cheek.

            "Aw, aren't you adorable," she says in a sing-song voice. "Maybe we should get you a bib, Baby's First Period."

            Emma squawks and kicks at her again. Claire hops back, laughing, and slips out of the bathroom, leaving Castiel and Emma in front of the smudged mirrors.

            "As I understand it, this event is cause for celebration," Castiel ventures after a moment. "I could make pancakes for dinner...?" Emma is extremely partial to pumpkin pancakes; Castiel endeavored to learn the recipe from Amelia after seeing how greatly she enjoyed them at the Thanksgiving brunch the Winchester-Novaks shared with the Thompson-Winchesters last year. "If you would like that."

            Emma almost smiles. But her expression becomes dark instead, something bitter. "C'mon, Cas. We both know what this means."

            Castiel compresses his lips. "It means that someday, should you so choose, you will be able to have a child with someone you love." He is not good at tactile gestures, even after all this time, but he puts his hand to Emma's head, lets it rest there, feeling the gentle pulse at her temple against his palm.

            Emma makes a sniffing sound and swipes a hand across her nose. She mumbles, "Thanks, Cas," and ducks past him outside, trench coat billowing behind her.

 

\- o -

 

            Dean did not return to the garage, it appears, for the Impala is waiting in the driveway when they get home. Castiel goes to distract Dean so that Claire and Emma may go inside without Dean seeing Emma in Castiel's coat, but Dean isn't in the living room, nor the dining room, nor even the kitchen. Instead, Castiel finds him in the garage, pulling clothes out of the dryer and folding them as the radio in the corner plays a song Castiel vaguely recognizes from Dean's cassette collection.

            Dean appears to be staring into space as he folds, eyes distant with thought, but he turns as Castiel steps into the garage from the kitchen. He clears his throat and goes back to folding a pair of slacks, says with a clear attempt at nonchalance, "They okay?"

            Castiel takes one of Dean's t-shirts from the pile on top of the dryer, begins to fold it. "Raising children is..." He pauses, smoothes a wrinkle from the shirt. And finds that he is not sure what, exactly, raising children is.

            Dean snorts. "Yeah." He stops folding and turns to look at Castiel, leaning his hip against the dryer. After a moment, he reaches for Cas; takes the folded t-shirt from him and puts it with the other folded clothes, reaches for Castiel's tie and loosens it with gentle hands.

            "Claire give you hell for barging into her class?"

            "Hell is one way to put it," Castiel says carefully. He leans into Dean's touch. "I have endured worse."

            Dean snorts again. "Yeah." He pulls his hands from Castiel's tie, smoothes them down Cas's front instead, stopping when they are spanned across his ribs. "They're really okay?"

            "Yes," Castiel says, and puts his hands over Dean's. He contemplates them for a moment. "I think that we should make breakfast for dinner tonight, however."

            Dean raises a brow, tightens his hands under Castiel's and shifts him up onto the dryer. He steps between his legs, nuzzles his face into Castiel's neck. "Yeah?"

            "Yeah," Castiel says, his mouth careful around the words, and the quick breath that steals from his mouth, and Dean's warm face in his hands.

            Dinner doesn't get started for another half hour.

           

\- o -

 

            Castiel knocks against Claire's door jamb, carefully. The door is open, but she is lying on her bed, copying something out of a textbook. She looks up, eyes narrowing slightly when she sees that it is him. "Come in."

            Castiel takes a single step inside. "I wished to say," he begins, and has to hesitate, regather himself before continuing, "it was good of you to protect Emma today. She was scared, and you--"

            "I don't need your approval," she interrupts. Her eyes are still narrow, but in a curious way, like she is trying to figure him out.

            "No, of course not. But the courage to protect a sibling--" He thinks of Anna, and of Balthazar, and of Rachel. "It is admirable. _I_ admire it. Would emulate it." He is saying too much, and at the same time too little. He shakes his head at himself, steps backward, out of her room. "Good night, Claire."

            Her eyes follow him. Curious but no longer narrow, just thoughtful. "Good night, Cas."

            Emma comes up the stairs as he's shuffling down the dark hallway, wishing that had gone better. She starts when she sees him, then grins, mouth full of the leftover orange pancake she's got in one hand. "Actual cannibal Castiel," she intones in a sing-song, and from Claire's open door comes a howl of laughter. Castiel has no idea what it means, but Emma lets out a triumphant shout and bounds into Claire's room, jumping onto the bed.

            "You watched the link? I _told_ you it was funny, oh my God, now are you going to trust me when I send you things?"

            "No, because half the things you send me are _porn_ \--"

            "Oh my God, be quiet, Cas is still out there!"

            "I'm like ninety percent positive Cas knows about your porn habits, Emma."

            "I do not, and nor do I have any wish to," Castiel calls as he heads down the stairs, away from the squeals and laughter that erupt behind him.

            Dean looks up from the dishes he's washing in the sink as Cas comes up behind him. "All good?"

            Cas takes the drying towel from where it's slung over Dean's shoulder and smiles. "All good."

 

 


End file.
